


Mercy

by TheGrammarHawk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cold-Blooded Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Grief/Mourning, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27911041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrammarHawk/pseuds/TheGrammarHawk
Summary: Aziraphale retreats into the ark to seek out Crawly's company despite the certain bad temper that awaits him. Somehow, finding the demon grieving and sick from exertion is not the most surprising revelation to be had.He had been unable to help the humans swept away by the floodwaters, but perhaps he can still comfort the one being he's started finding himself attached to.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Please do be warned that this fic does often concern the deaths of humans, especially children, during the flood. No one dies on-screen, as it were, but it's mentioned often. Also, I'm not religious, so Whoops if there are any smatterings of inaccuracies, sorry!  
> I do not own Good Omens, of course, a couple of quotes are taken from the book and show.

Mercy. There was no mercy in Heaven, that’s what they had said: the Archangels, Gabriel and Michael, had peered at him when explaining what would soon come to pass; mercy was dead. Or, not truly mercy: it was _Mercy_ that was dead.

Two of the Archangels had represented Mercy in Heaven, working in tandem with each other as the two eldest Seraphim Archangels, one cutting Life in order to spare it, one mending Life in order to let it recover. They had both been needed when the Lord had begun Her experiments, assessing the limits of Her creatures before everything went wrong–

Not wrong, Aziraphale supposed. After all, it was ineffable, wasn’t it? The Falling of those-that-once-were, the creation of demons, the War.

Lucifer had fallen, despite his status, but as far as the Host was concerned no Archangel had fallen alongside him. Regardless, Lucifer had not been exactly an Archangel, and he had most certainly not been one of Mercy.

Michael still had Grace, and still held her place in the spaces where Mercy could be taken from violence. Mercy killings, as it was.

This was hardly a mercy killing, Aziraphale knew. This was death from the place of anger, not love. Still, he could not help but have Faith that this was all simply ineffable in Her design.

The rain was almost as cold as the look in Michael’s eyes had been when Aziraphale had asked of mercy for the humans, a thought propelled by the way Crawly’s usual cool had dissipated as soon as the water drops hit his head. All at once the demon’s eyes had blown into full yellow, his dark wings appearing with an almost-felt _pop_ as he took off, not looking back to Aziraphale for even a moment.

_“You can’t kill kids!”_

The Archangels had been firm: She most certainly could kill kids. Ineffable.

He could understand killing children out of mercy - gently taking away a child’s soul and sending it off to Heaven before their tiny body could be horribly ravaged by oncoming illness. For a moment, Aziraphale had even wondered if Michael would commit such acts – razing the humans as the rain fell so that their deaths could be instant compared to the horror of a slow drowning.

Michael did not, instead disappearing into the sky with Gabriel at her side, not even considering the notion that pain could be spared.

It made sense, of course. Michael had always been balanced by the soft urgings of her slightly younger brother, the Archangel Raphael.

Raphael was _endlessly_ kind, though Aziraphale had few memories of seeing the Archangel directly. He remembered a brightness like star-fire as hair and eyes, burning with a divine radiance, but more than anything the blinding light of his _smile_. He nurtured things into life, into _being_ , with delicate and spindly hands. Where Michael had sliced through once-angels with a swift finality, sending them straight to their Fall, Raphael had–

Well. Raphael had disappeared, to be most plain. The rumors of his death spread rapidly once the War was said and done.

After all, he had to have died. Lucifer had fallen, but none of the _Archangels_ had. Not Michael, not Gabriel, not Uriel.

Raphael was not a fighter; Aziraphale had not needed to know him personally to understand that.

(Had he known him personally? Those few memories he had left were so _blurred_.)

The idea of the Archangel spending too much of the War healing instead of fighting in proper would have made sense if he had been killed. The gentlest Archangel, struck down without fighting back…

 _That’s what they_ told _us,_ Aziraphale could not help but consider. _They told us he died, but they almost seem to hold hope for him to live among us still. Did he flee the war, too upset by its demeanor?_

It didn’t matter where Raphael was, if he _was_ at all. What mattered was where he wasn’t: Heaven.

To Heaven, Mercy was dead, and as such, there would be no mercy ordained by the Archangels during this wretched flood.

Aziraphale shifted, stepping out of the torrential rain and into the recesses of the ark. He could not have given any of the swept-away humans acts of mercy without defying Gabriel, defying Michael – defying the Lord Herself.

He found himself miraculously dried as he went deeper into the aloft vessel, a small glow of light in his palm as he navigated among the animals. All of them, save the unicorn, poor dear, were bundled in their pairs, seeking warmth from each other.

At the moment Aziraphale desired nothing more than to huddle with the other member of _his_ coupling as well, if Crawly would allow that. He had been _irate_ the last time they had spoken, once the waters had gotten knee-high; Aziraphale had caught him putting men and women into a dreamless sleep – an act of _kindness_ , he had remarked, which had brought about a strangled hiss from the demon.

_“Not kind, you blessed angel! Cruel – taking the hours they have left, not letting them pray for mercy or any o’ that – as if that’d get them into Heaven at this rate…”_

No matter the mask of anger, Crawly was clearly hurting. It made Aziraphale deeply uncomfortable – whether because of an acquaintance’s clear suffering or because a _demon_ had shown more mercy than Michael, or even _he_ had – well, it didn’t do any good dwelling on it.

(Crawly couldn’t still be mad, now, Aziraphale felt certain, at least not mad enough to refuse the angel’s warmth. He was a snake at his core, after all – and it was _horribly_ cold and drafty, even inside the ark. Perhaps it would work as an olive branch…?)

Aziraphale was immediately pulled from his thoughts as he stepped into a small puddle of freezing water. Frowning, he glanced ahead to see similar wet spots in the wood, waving them away with his lit-up hand.

At least he appeared to be going in the right direction. Crawly had to be _soaked_ , after all, poor thing. He had watched the other continue to fly in the storm even after Aziraphale had taken refuge, his black wings practically invisible against the gloomy sky. It was difficult enough to make out his fiery hair, long locks darkened with wet, but Aziraphale could’ve _sworn_ his shape was larger than it should have been, almost as if he was carrying things, or had extra _limbs_ –

The puddles led to the space where the lone unicorn lay, but there was no demon to be found, the water running right up against the wall. Smart, Aziraphale knew: Noah and his family would not think to walk into a wall.

It did not stop Aziraphale from doing exactly that.

He dipped into the miracled cavity, unsurprised when the smell of dank animals and straw faded to the scent of brimstone and flames. It was not a large space, not at all, and it was especially cramped with the surprising about of bodies inhabiting it.

 _Living_ bodies, the Principality noted, a small flicker of surprise lighting in his gut. Two children, almost adolescents, were huddled near an absolutely _tiny_ flame. The older one, a boy who had a younger child nestled, sleeping, against his back, looked up in some form of alarm, a name forming on his lips before he froze at the sight of Aziraphale’s light.

The other looked toward the corner apprehensively, and back to Aziraphale, as if drawing a conclusion. Looking to the older boy, the child gave a nod, clearly unbothered after a moment.

Aziraphale understood why as he dimmed his own light, allowing the tiny flame to grow just a _smidge_ taller under a careful miracle, making sure it remained contained. The warm glow reached the corner just enough to let Aziraphale see the glimmer of midnight feathers.

Massive wings were concealing Crawly, still glistening with dampness, twitching and shivering in obvious cold. With a careful step forward, Aziraphale came to sit beside the massive lump.

He didn’t remember Crawly’s wings being so _large_ , if he was being honest with himself. Perhaps it was a trick of the flamelight, but it almost was if there were more than–

All at once, the wings shifted, a pair of snake eyes gleaming out in the dark. They were less gold than was normal, Aziraphale frowned to himself, instead a more sickly yellow, squinted from exhaustion or pain. There was no immediate rebuttal at his arrival, at least, so he couldn’t still be all that furious.

Then came a small noise, almost a _whimper_ , and those eyes stopped their piercing stare to refocus closer to the floor. His right wing – _no,_ Aziraphale felt his already unnecessary heart halt beating – _two_ right wings separated to show another human, small enough to be a toddler, head resting on Crawly’s leg, one of his hands soothing the dark curls of hair in an attempt to put the child back to sleep.

All at once Aziraphale found the picture to be much clearer. Not two wings – not _four,_ either. He, he _knew_ that there had been Fallen Seraphim, but _Crawly–?_

(Years in the future, after an aborted Apocalypse, Aziraphale would have the chance to see all of them in proper lighting, when his long-repressed curiosity finally got the better of him. He understood shortly why Crowley only ever manifested two after a mere second of seeing. The two middle wings were, after all, meticulously cared for. The top two on either side were less than whole, the left at an awkward angle and the right with patches bare of feathers, the ones remaining crooked and scraggly. The lower right one was more-or-less alright, but the lower left…

Well, there was really only a stump, there. No wing at all. It didn’t stop Aziraphale from pressing a feather-light kiss.)

Even as the child quieted, Crawly left his hand on the little head. It was shaking, still, and Aziraphale could not stop himself from reaching out to take it into his hold, cupping the cold flesh in both of his own hands. Crawly shuddered at the sudden heat source, hardly noticing as Aziraphale spent another miracle to dry him.

Or, her, it appeared, as Crawly’s wings drew back further, revealing another two children as well as herself. The one curled up at her other side was a bit older than the toddler between her and Aziraphale, but what was more surprising was the infant in the demon’s left arm. It was absolutely _tiny_ ; it couldn’t have been more than a week old…

Aziraphale let out an exhale. This was a _lot_ of information to take in at once – Crawly was a Fallen Seraph, had snuck a total of six children onto the ark, and had changed to woman-shaped at some point since the rain had begun – and all of it dwarf to the icy feel of her clammy fingers. It took hardly any effort to extend his Grace out further, letting the warmth reach out and envelop Crawly in an attempt to stop the shaking.

It made sense, really. Crawly must have expended tremendous amounts of energy between manifesting all her wings, keeping a controlled fire for the children, creating the hidden cavity, and going through the effort of bringing them aboard at all – especially considering the miracles spent to the ones she put to rest earlier. To do it all while being hammered constantly with a divine rain must have stung as well, even if it wasn’t as potent as proper holy water, it wasn’t something he could imagine a demon enjoying.

Slowly, as Aziraphale’s ethereal warmth filled the small room, the black wings faded from their plane of existence. Still trembling, now unsupported by the propping her wings provided, Crawly listed sideways to fall upon Aziraphale’s shoulder. With an awkward, half-hearted jolt she stole back her hand from Aziraphale’s, if only to nestle the baby more soundly to her chest. In return, Aziraphale moved to reach around her shoulders, careful in case she didn’t want the touch.

The way she nestled closer was almost more worrying. They sat in silence for a while, Crawly’s shivering lessening as they watched the kids by the fire curl up and sleep. Only once all were dreaming did Aziraphale register the low murmur from his companion.

“D’n… D’n’t kill ‘m. Angel, don’…”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise as Crawly curled in on herself, obscuring the baby from view, even as she continued when Aziraphale didn’t make any move. “I… ‘ngel, I couldn’t… couldn’t save more…”

He could only bury his nose into Crawly’s ginger curls in an attempt to soothe her, hand rubbing her arm to instill more warmth.

Later, he knew, they’d have a mighty row over all of this. When Crawly was more awake, had recovered some of her strength, when the rain stopped falling even as the ark still rocked. Crawly would yell herself hoarse, then, away from the children, desperate and angry in her questions of _why_. _Why_ would She kill so many innocents? _Why_ couldn’t she have saved more before the water completely swept people away? _Why_ didn’t Aziraphale dare to help her?

But that was then, and this was now.

_“Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?”_

Aziraphale stood by his answer now, as well, chasing away the memory of Crawly’s words with it. _“Not really.”_

“My duties include making certain that the creatures aboard the ark are kept safe and cared for. _All_ of them.”

And if that brought forth a deep sob from Crawly, painfully-hot tears wetting Aziraphale’s shoulder, he wouldn’t so much as mention it. He was more concerned, at the moment, by the faint heat that radiated from her temple as she spoke up again, voice weaker than before.

“Not fair, ‘s not _fair_ , ‘ngel, they’re kids, _kids_ , d’n’t deserve… deserve this… Shem wouldn’, wouldn’ even _take_ her, when I asked ‘m,” she shrugged her shoulders, gesturing to the bundle in her arms, “thought we w’re friends, but he didn’ even… too worried ‘bout Her to take a _baby_ in, ‘s so _small_ Angel, cryin’ with hunger, an’ he wouldn’t _take_ her…”

Aziraphale nodded in return, understanding all at once why Crawly had shifted her form to woman-shaped. “Crawly, dear girl, save your strength.” It was obvious, now, how sick the demon was as her adrenaline tapered off. Exhaustion and exposure to divinity would do that to any of her kind, after all.

“Ssstupid,” Crawly hissed hoarsely, as though he hadn’t spoken at all, “thisss rain, an’, and _killing_ kidsss, they’ve done nothhhin’ to _dessserve_ …”

Between the lapse of control of her sibilants and her half-closed eyes, Aziraphale gave in to sending her into a proper sleep. Careful, making sure the infant was supported in her lap when it became clear she would not let him take it, Aziraphale pressed a palm against her cheek. “Rest, Crawly. Rest well, and dream of whatever it is you like best.”

The shallow, sporadic breaths slowly evened out as Aziraphale took his hand back, waiting a few moments before allowing his own wings to materialize and cocoon them, letting the wall of feathers more easily trap their heat within for the unwell Serpent of Eden. Warmth and sleep would do her more good than anything else, after all. She’d likely be fit enough to have that row within the next day or two.

He wasn’t supposed to aid the stowaway children, and he _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to aid the demon beside him. Acts of mercy like this simply weren’t how Heaven operated, not anymore. After all, Mercy was gone from Heaven. Crawly had been far more merciful in the past millennium than any of his fellow angels…

Mouth dry, Aziraphale shut his eyes against the light of the fire, cautiously boxing away the vision of Crawly’s _many_ wings in order to address it another day, a warmer day, a drier day, perhaps over a warm meal, if possible. Those days _would_ be coming, he was certain of it.

The kindness of Mercy’s gentler half was gone from Heaven, that much was true, and regardless of the puzzle pieces he had begun to strung together, it had no place in Hell.

Here, however, in this space, surrounded by sleeping children and demon alike?

Mercy had made its home on Earth.

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope you enjoyed! This is my first work for Good Omens, and I never know if there will be more to come, but it's entirely possible!


End file.
